The Sacrifice
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *AU* Kagome begins to suspect that what lies beneath the ancient custom her family has carried into the modern era may be more than just superstitious tradition. *COMPLETE* (nominated Best Darkfic/Horror 4th Quarter Dokuga Awards, 2011)
1. Together Yet Separate

**Disclaimers****:**

**1) **_**Inuyasha**_** characters © Rumiko Takahashi**.

**2)** This fic is inspired, in part, by the Chinese supernatural horror film_The Heirloom_. I'd been very intrigued by the myth in the movie and had been considering doing something based on it for a while, but **A)** it's not usually my style to weave plot based off of pre-existing stories- **B)** I'd really not had a place for it (I'm not certain if the myth is/was an actual belief or something from the mind of a writer, but I won't be a spoiler for any who want to watch this movie).

**This fic is AU &amp; my AU's veer **_**far**_** from the source material.**

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***Chapter one originally posted 9/02/11; updated to chapter seven 03/13/13**

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**Chapter One**

Together Yet Separate

Kagome tiptoed up the stairs, pausing as the sound of creaking wood beneath her feet seemed to ring deafeningly through the empty house. Holding her breath, she turned her head to glance over her shoulder and listened carefully for the footfalls from the floors below of anyone that might be rushing suddenly to stop her. _Nothing._ She exhaled slowly, trying to quell the nervous flip-flopping of her stomach. Her mother and grandfather should still be in town, but sometimes it was as though they manifested back within the house out of thin air without warning.

Reminding herself that she didn't have much time—and it would be even less if she kept halting- she swallowed her anxiety and continued up into the attic. She pushed the door open, finding it odd as she always did that the hinges on it never squeaked, as though someone in the family saw to it that they were always oiled. It unsettled her to think they would be so careful to not want_this_ door to be heard. Kagome frowned and pushed the thought aside, making her way quickly across the expanse of blank wood floor ignoring many dusty steamer trunks and standing wardrobes; were she allowed, she would adore the opportunity to rifle through them, to dig her hands through the scores of family history, of times long past, that she knew were contained within, but there was never time. She wasn't even supposed to be up here.

At last she reached the end of the attic, though it wasn't precisely the very back of the storage space as it should have been, converted as it had been some years before she was born to create a separate room. Foolish as it was at this point, she couldn't stop herself from casting another hurried, nervous glance over her shoulder before carefully sitting on her knees before the door.

She raised her hand to knock, wondering for a brief, flickering moment if she should try the door knob. There was no chance that her mother or grandfather had left the door unlocked- they would never be so careless- but in the back of her mind, she wished . . . not only that it could true, but that she was at least brave enough to try it.

She winced at the too-loud-seeming sound of her knuckles connecting with the aged, but solid wood. "Kikyou?" she murmured uncertainly when there was no immediate reply.

After a strained moment there was the sound of shuffling from the other side of the door, leading Kagome to imagine that her twin had assumed a similar sitting position on the floor. "Kagome," her voice was happy despite the words that followed, "you know you shouldn't be up here."

Kagome frowned sadly, idly tracing a fingertip over the tiny, rectangular slide in the bottom of the door—the one used to deliver Kikyou's meals and new books, reading being the only thing the poor girl really had with which to occupy herself. She found it a small comfort that the family had at least seen fit to teach Kikyou to read. The Higurashi clan was quite wealthy and influential, despite their reclusive habits, despite clinging to old world superstitions and traditions. Painful traditions . . . like locking away from the world the children that were born not quite perfect.

Children like Kikyou, who had earned herself a life of imprisonment for the transgression of being born with a lame leg.

Though the twins had been separated at a very early age, Kagome had never forgotten about her sister. She knew their family had taken strides to keep Kikyou a secret—even from her, assuming that she'd forgotten with the passing of time, as children do—they never spoke of her, preparing her meals silently and mechanically, the same with delivering to her reading material. It was simply a chore like anything, a task taken care of because it needed doing, nothing more.

They had been so careful that Kagome had not known for a very long while where Kikyou was even kept, though she'd sometimes thought that her sister had been sent away. That was the public story, after all, that Higurashi Kikyou had been a sickly child and thus was sent to live with a branch of the family in a constant mild climate for her own good. Kikyou was brought breakfast before Kagome awoke in the morning, lunch while she was outside playing or at school and dinner after she'd gone to bed at night. Then one winter's day during middle school Kagome was home sick and had spied her mother carrying a tray of food up to the attic.

The attic that Kagome had always been warned away from because the storage space was _too dangerous_.

Something told her not to ask about this incident. She had been indulged once, and only once, as a child when she had inquired about her sibling. Her mother had given her the same story the family had spun for the public, but did not make any mention of this sibling being her _twin_. Even as young as she'd been at the time Kagome had known her mother had been omitting things.

Instead of making another inquiry, which was likely to be brushed aside with _Kagome, did you forget . . . _, she waited for a day when she had been left home alone to creep up, into the attic and investigate. It was not until _that _day—the day that she swallowed her fear of possible punishment, or of what she might find, and ventured up those stairs—that she realized just how far the family had stretched the truth.

That was when she'd found this door; when a jiggle of the locked door knob and a curious knock graced her with hearing her sister's voice for the first time. It had made for a strange, yet teary-eyed reunion; the latter especially so when Kagome learned that her twin had never forgotten her, either.

She had been sneaking up here to visit with her sister whenever she could ever since.

"You always say that," Kagome pointed out, sniffling reflexively—this was the exact way all of their conversations started.

"And it's always true," Kikyou replied, the smile on her face evident in her tone.

"I _had_ to come speak with you today, I never know when I'll get to come up here and next week is our eighteenth birthday." Kagome tugged a folded paper out of the pocket of her neatly pressed black jeans and pushed it through the slide in the door. "I made you something."

"A present?" The amazement in Kikyou's voice tore at her sister's heart; it always hurt to think such simple things were a wonder to her.

Kagome shrugged. "It's not much, but I didn't want it to be taken away, so . . . this way you can hide it in one of your books."

She could just barely hear the sound of the thick sheet of sketch paper being unfolded. Kikyou gave a small gasp, "Oh, Kagome . . . ."

Kagome gave a self-derisive laugh, "I told you it wasn't much." The rendering she'd done of the two of them—or rather, of two of herself, as she didn't know what Kikyou looked like, so she could only go on the notion that they were _twins—_was all she could think of that would mean something to the both of them. Two girls with the same long, raven-black hair, the same wide, chestnut-brown eyes.

"It's beautiful. I'm sorry, Kagome I'd have made you something, too." There was a pause, "Oh, who am I kidding, I don't have anything . . . but I—I could have written you a poem, I have lots of books of poetry; I think I'd be good at that. I just didn't know our birthday was coming . . . I never know what day it is."

It was not a statement that contained sadness or bitterness; it had merely been a fact, a simple truth of her life. Kagome was reminded—as she so often was in these moments—that she could not begin to imagine what Kikyou's existence was like. After all, she had been born the _perfect_ child, she'd been the one doted upon, even spoiled, while her sister had known nothing but neglect and solitude.

Forcing a hard gulp down her throat, Kagome pushed aside a sudden upwelling of tears as her hand shot up to try the knob. It proved a futile effort as it rattled and jiggled, but would not turn. She knew this door was opened every so often—her twin had told her as much—Kikyou had her own bathroom, and their mother brought in fresh linens and clothes very few weeks and took out the used things to be laundered. Why couldn't the woman forget to lock it just once? Just so that she might get to look upon her own sister's face.

"You know that never works," Kikyou admonished.

Kagome sighed, leaning her cheek against the door. "Maybe I should learn how to pick locks," she groused.

A quiet, musical laugh sounded from the other side of the door. "I wanted to ask you about something."

A dark, arched brow quirking at the caution in her sister's tone, Kagome murmured, "You know you can ask me anything."

"Have you been having . . . dreams? I—I mean about a man with silver hair?"

Kagome stifled a surprised gasp, feeling her cheeks flood with warmth instantly. She knew that twins were sometimes supposed to have a psychic connection—that it was said that they could share dreams, things like that—but the idea that anyone would know about _him _was so shamefully embarrassing.

She was trying to push back the memories, one washed over her regardless. The sweet, blissful sensation of a warm mouth at her breast . . . the way those impossible golden eyes rolled up to lock on hers as he had gently parted her legs with his hand and began to slide his fingers—

Kagome cleared her throat loudly, feeling awkward suddenly. She dropped her gaze to the floor, as though her sister could see her through the door. "You, um, you know about that? Do you have them, too?"

"Not exactly . . . I catch glimpses sometimes. I just wanted to know where they were coming from. Besides, I don't think he's interested in me."

"Don't think _he's_ . . ." Kagome echoed, letting her words trail off as she snapped her eyes up to the door again. "You're talking about, well, _him_ like he's an actual person."

"I don't _know_ that he is, but—"

Kagome's nerves seemed to fray instantly at the way her sister's voice had stopped short. The sudden silence was followed by the sound of Kikyou's irregular footsteps- one normal foot fall, one shuffling drag- moving hurriedly across the wood floor. She knew Kikyou had gone to look out the window.

Just as quickly, those footsteps came back toward the door. "You have to go, the car just pulled up."

"I'll come back as soon as I can," Kagome assured her.

Her sister urged in a hushed tone, "Go now, please!"

It was more the insistence in Kikyou's voice than the fear of getting in trouble—that her twin could be so concerned for whether or not _she_ would be punished, rather than herself for this was both touching and heartbreaking—that forced Kagome to her feet.

She bolted across the attic and through the door, making certain to close the door securely behind her—nothing could be out of place—and continued down the stairs. Rounding a bend in the corridor, Kagome managed to get into her room, closing her own door just as she heard the one in the main entryway downstairs being opened.

She pressed her back against the solid support of the door and tried to calm her breathing, wondering just when her heart had managed to lodge itself in her throat. Her name rang out suddenly through the house, causing her to give a start.

_There's no way they know, there's no way they know,_ she thought fervently, waiting for her mother to call for her again; waiting to gauge the tone of the woman's voice.

"Kagome?"

Calm . . . pleasant, almost sing-song. Okay, so her mother likely hadn't somehow mystically learned of her _perfect_ child trespassing into the forbidden section of the house. Nodding to herself, Kagome allowed herself to open the door and reenter the hallway. Her mother, Higurashi Aiko, had ventured half-way up the curving staircase by the time Kagome reached the top step.

"Sorry, mom, I just . . . drifted off while I was reading," she fell into step with Aiko as the older woman spun on her heel and began back down the stairs. "Did you need something?"

"Yes," Aiko looped an arm around her daughter's elbow. "Your grandfather and I need your help setting the house."

Kagome couldn't help stiffening a little. It wasn't that she didn't love her mother—the woman wasn't anything but loving, and perhaps even a touch overbearing. To Kagome, but to Kikyou . . . . Pretending like everything was sunshine and kittens was no simple task when she was so angry with her mother for going along with the antiquated practice that had seen to her sister being locked away. It proved more difficult, still, after her secret visits with Kikyou.

Her mother and grandfather misinterpreted Kagome's hesitation to respond as the two women reached the foot of the stairs. "Kagome," her grandfather scolded gently, smiling warmly at her, "you will never remember, will you? The waxing moon is approaching."

"Ah, right, of course," Kagome said with a forced brightness, nodding and gratefully using the excuse to step away from her mother by moving to take one of the shopping bags from the pint-sized elderly man's arms.

She bowed her head a little, staring into the depths of the bag as she followed them into the kitchen. Every month during the days that led up to the waxing-crescent phase of the moon, members of the extended family gathered here to give a ritual offering. It seemed ridiculous to Kagome—to continue to pay homage in the modern era to some ancient entity or spirit, whatever, that had supposedly granted their family the wealth and influence they'd had for so many generations—but the family was insistent that they uphold such traditions. Likely more for superstitious fear that not following this custom would put some sort of jinx on their good fortune than any _real_ reason.

When she was young, it had been discussed as though it was akin to feeding a family pet. She'd never seen any cat or dog—or any animal, for that matter—in the recesses of the archaic stone cellar where they placed the offering. There was an odd door that always intrigued her, but the space behind it was always empty. It was only as she grew older that she understood the offerings to simply be a useless family tradition. She had no idea what the offerings were, either—always concealed in a small, ornately painted urn.

Every now and again though . . . . Kagome glanced over her shoulder at her chattering mother—gossiping about someone or other whom she'd run into at the market—as she continued to mechanically retrieve groceries and extra toiletries from the bags and set them out on the counter. Every now and again Kagome couldn't help but wonder . . . .

There were moments when she was alone in the house—for snippets of time only, not allowing her the freedom to visit with her sister—that she felt as though something was _there_ with her. Some instances were so intense that she felt certain that if she turned her head just quickly enough, if she glanced over her shoulder at just the right moment, she would see someone standing there behind her. But of course there was never anything there.

It wasn't some subconscious weight reminding her that she was never truly alone in the house because her sister was there. No, Kikyou's presence felt different from this. Kagome was always aware when someone was near her, she couldn't always tell who it was, but she knew people gave off different energies and she wasn't certain how she was able to sense it, it had simply been something she could always do. The . . . feeling that came over her when she was alone was as real, as tangible as her mother and grandfather standing only a few feet away from her right now.

She knew it was a leap, but it made her wonder somehow if their family's _imaginary_ _pet _might actually be something more than imaginary.

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**(2 Notes: 1. Locking away children with disabilities—in some cases, hiding their existence entirely—sadly, was a common practice in several cultures even as recently as up until a few decades ago.**

**2\. I'm also playing a little bit with the widely held notion that twins are often considered to be likely to have some sort of extra sensory ability.**

**Thank you for reading the first installment of **_**The Sacrifice**_**.)**


	2. Suspicious-Minded

**Chapter Two**

Suspicious-Minded

Kagome smoothed her hands over her dress- the pretty, new red dress her mother had purchased for her. Every night of offering meant Kagome got a new dress, and it was almost always a red one. She wasn't certain what the color or purchase date of her attire had to do with anything, but Aiko managed to sneak the dresses into her room each time, often while Kagome was showering in her private bathroom, and had never seen fit to explain the necessity of it. Quite frankly, it made the girl feel a little like she was being presented.

It usually took her a while to get ready, but today Kagome didn't feel like making such a fuss, forgoing the application of any makeup and simply tugging a brush through the long dark waves of her hair before stepping into a pair of black heels and turning towards the mirror. The slip dress, with its simple spaghetti straps and wispy, flowing length that brushed just to her knees, fit perfectly. Sighing heavily at her reflection, she turned on her heel and stepped over to the door. Everyone was already gathered in the parlor, anyway, there seemed no harm in being a few minutes- alright, so perhaps it was more like twenty, but then she'd also skipped washing her hair- ahead of her usual time frame.

Entering the hall, she pulled her door closed behind her and headed for the staircase, listening to the buzzing hum of hushed conversation from her relatives. She couldn't help freezing up for the briefest second . . . was it her imagination, or had that buzzing hum seemed to quiet as she'd neared the top step? Shaking her head at herself- when had she become so very suspicious?- she simply continued down the stairs.

She couldn't shake the feeling that everyone's attention was on her as she neared the foot of the staircase and resisted the urge to shake her head again, but also resisted the urge to raise her eyes to anyone, unwilling to confirm or deny the eerie sensation. Even as a child she'd excelled at compartmentalizing, allowing her to stow away her wary notions, to ignore her anger at her family and their horrid, antiquated traditions until they were on their way back to their own homes and she could stew and grouse about them to her heart's content with only the dozens of porcelain dolls that lined her bedroom's shelves to witness it. Now, though . . . it seemed she'd spent the last day simply trying to contain those thoughts.

It was not until a hand closed gently over hers on the staircase railing that she realized she had paused. Unable to avoid it now, she lifted her gaze from the gnarled and withered fingers that rested over her own to meet the warm eyes of her great aunt Kaede.

Kaede's wizened face folded and crinkled as she smiled at the girl. "Kagome, dear, would you do this old woman a favor?"

Kagome pushed away her private miseries and forced a smile, in the back of her head counting the moments until _this old woman_stopped touching her hand. "Of course, Aunt Kaede; what do you need?"

Her eyes flickered away from Kagome's for only the very briefest second, seeming to be looking for something over the girl's head- though it wasn't nearly long enough for Kagome to know for certain that she hadn't imagined this- before Kaede swept her free hand out in a dismissive gesture toward the vase in the center of the parlor's coffee table. "Those flowers are beginning to wilt. I know it seems silly, but I consider it an unpleasant reminder of being in my wilting years, myself. Would you kindly go pick some fresh ones from the garden for me?"

"Sure, Aunt Kaede," Kagome said with a light nod, slipping by the old woman's stocky frame and heading for the door; she spared a quick moment to offer the family members she was breezing past a greeting by way of a shallow dipping of her head on her way.

Even as she tugged one of the polished oak double doors open and stepped outside, she still couldn't shake that bizarre feeling- as if the room was collectively breathing a sigh of relief to see her agreeing to not be _there_ right then. She let her back slump against the door for a long moment as she tried to shake the impression. The strangely, suddenly immutable dislike she held for her own blood these past few days was making her imagine things.

Frowning darkly, Kagome pushed away from the door and began walking the cobblestone path that lead from the main entry way to branch in to three directions- the first led straight toward the curving drive way, the second and third both looped backward, around the side of the house toward the garden and expansive, meticulously manicured yard. She began winding her way to the back of the house and . . . paused.

She didn't like thinking the way she had been, being suspicious of the world was a horrible way to feel, but then she wasn't certain her feelings- regardless of what had seeded those feelings- were completely unfounded. Biting deep into her lower lip, she considered it for only the briefest moment before stepping up to the nearest window and peering into the house.

Inside the parlor her cousins, aunts and uncles were milling about, chatting quietly amongst themselves, as they had been when she'd been coming down the stairs. Aunt Kaede, however, had climbed up to the middle of the staircase, looking expectantly toward the back of the upper corridor. The difference between a few moments ago and now was that _now_ everyone seemed to be dividing their attention between whatever conversations they were carrying on and casting fleeting glances toward the front door.

They were checking to see if she was coming back in, there was no mistaking that.

Kagome couldn't seem to make herself move. She wanted to turn away, wanted to think nothing more of this. Maybe her family was simply acting so alert of her presence because she had been behaving just a bit like a spooked kitten since they'd arrived. Maybe she was experiencing nothing more than what the rest of the world called paranoia and if she could simply step away now and get Aunt Kaede her stupid damned flowers she would be able to eventually let these feelings go and put them back into their neat little box in the recesses of her mind.

Just as she thought she'd talked herself into ignoring her suspicions, into turning away from that window, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Aunt Kaede was waving her pudgy arms, gesturing almost frantically at someone at the end of the corridor. Turning her head to look, Kagome saw that her mother and grandfather were emerging from the attic stair case, and in her grandfather's hands was the vessel- the small, ornately painted urn in which their family _pet's_ offering was supposedly held.

What could it mean? Kagome felt her heart thud painfully in her chest as she tried to sort out her thoughts. Why would they be coming down from Kikyou's room with that?

Her legs seemed to lose their strength and nearly before she knew it, she felt herself hitting the ground on her knees. This couldn't mean _anything_. Kagome shook her head, pushing a shaky hand through her hair. That urn was so small- about the size of a porcelain sugar bowl- it couldn't hold much of anything. No, no there had to be some sense to this.

Perhaps . . . perhaps because the offering was meant to be presented by the family and Kikyou couldn't be there during the ceremony they brought it up to her so she could pray over it, as well?

That actually made sense. Kagome forced herself to drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, sensation and warmth flooding back into limbs and digits that she hadn't even realized had gone numb and cold until she was able to feel them again. This ceremony was a practice upheld approximately once a month, which meant the only deviation tonight had been _her_ coming down from her room early. They couldn't be doing something harmful to Kikyou- her sister would have told her- and if they all still assumed Kagome was unaware of Kikyou's presence in the attic, then that could explain why they didn't want her to see her mother and grandfather coming down from there. Kagome knew she'd proved herself a curious child and keeping her from seeing something she might consider unusual would stop her from asking questions they were not prepared to answer.

Breathing a sigh of relief, though she still disliked most of the people gathered under her roof right now, she sternly reminded herself that she needed to get Aunt Kaede's flowers. She gave herself a brief shake and braced her palms against the grass to push herself up, immediately turning and taking a few steps away from the window when a sudden, skin-crawling tingle arced across her shoulders; so potent, so disorienting for a moment that she found herself on the ground again.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone behind her, so close she thought she could feel the warmth of that someone's skin hovering just against hers. Kagome snapped her head to one side as fast as she could, dark hair fanning out around her as she cast wide, alert eyes over her shoulder. Nothing.

She tried to draw in a breath, to calm her jangled nerves, but her body refused to obey her. There was no one there- she could plainly see that there was no one there- yet the sensation that was edging like ice water around her brain and making her heart thunder in her chest was still there.

In a fleeting hope, she lifted her gaze to the parlor window, wanting to see if perhaps one of her relatives was there, watching her; hoping the feeling was just an overreaction to not seeing who was around her. No one. Frowning and trying to get a reign on her feelings, she lowered eyes, examining the blades of grass beneath her fingers.

It was still there . . . the feeling of it, so close, so solid, so _very_ real was tangible as the ground beneath her and she couldn't help raising her eyes once more. Still there was nothing, but . . . . She'd never noticed it before- that narrow window all but completely obscured by the twining vines that had grown up to swallow the lower section of the house.

Kagome felt her breath hitch in her throat and began creeping forward on her knees, not really conscious of the effort until she found herself already moving. Her hands lifted tentatively to pull at the rope-like limbs, but they stubbornly refused to give more than a few measly centimeters in any direction. The sensation continued to ebb and flow around her, as though she could feel it breathing against her skin, but it grew no more pronounced than it had already been.

Giving a determined frown, she leaned forward, half-expecting what she _should_ see, but not certain at all if she would be right. She_should_ be looking at the cellar- there was nothing else to find in that section of the house. She found herself peering into that odd little room that never seemed to be used for anything.

The feeling died away so suddenly that Kagome gave a small start at the absence of it.

She forced a gulp down her throat. As much as she wanted to chock this up to coincidence, she simply couldn't. It just felt so much like whatever had been around her mere moments ago had wanted to _know_ she was aware of that room. Her brow furrowed at the very idea of that.

Kagome slapped herself squarely on the cheek, wincing instantly at the mild sting it caused, and shook her head- now she was assigning motives to her odd little impressions?

"Okay, Aunt Kaede's flowers . . ." she grumbled determinedly as she miserably dragged herself up to stand and at last trudged her way over to the flowerbed.


	3. Perception

**Chapter Three**

Perception

Try as she might, Kagome could not seem to take her mind off of that urn; not as she'd brought the flowers back in, not as she'd trimmed them at old Aunt Kaede's insistence and replaced the wilting bunch with them, not as she'd neatly fallen into sitting in one of the plush arm chairs scattered throughout the expansive parlor. She feared that she was making her preoccupation obvious because every few moments that passed as she sat in the same room with it, a handful of sharply elongated seconds would tick by before she could pull her eyes away from that vibrant pattern of red and black paint against the white porcelain.

She was oblivious to the murmured conversation around her—even still to the instant ceasing of voices, followed closely by the shuffling sounds of people moving around. It wasn't truly the urn itself that had her transfixed- though, try as she might, she couldn't completely stave off the oppressing fear and confusion she'd felt when she'd glimpsed her mother coming down from Kikyou's room with it, no matter how she told herself she'd already thought of a perfectly logical reason for that. No, it was that looking at it, at that small, innocent-seeming object, reminded her of the sensations that had washed over her soon afterwards. Really, it could not have been more than ten or fifteen minutes ago, but it felt so very far away right at this second . . . as though she were remembering something glimpsed in a dream.

"Kagome!"

She started, tearing her eyes away from the urn to see her mother staring down at her with a confused frown. "Are you okay, honey?"

Kagome shook her head as she gave a slow, dramatic blink, "Um, yeah, sorry, mom."

"Well good, please take the urn—it's time."

The girl nodded stiffly, not wishing to appear as though anything was out of the ordinary, and rose from her seat. Despite how she wished it to appear, she couldn't shake how she felt—like every step that took her closer to that little porcelain jar dragged on forever when, really, it was only half way across the parlor floor. As she reached down, sliding her fingertips along the cool, painted surface she wondered briefly what would happen if she slipped . . . if she pretended to lose her grip on it and sent the little jar crashing against the floor.

If she did that . . . would she see anything spill out onto the polished hardwood surface from inside it?

"Kagome, please," Aiko said in a gentle, yet insistent voice.

She could only guess that she really had been moving just as sluggishly as she felt like she'd been. "Right, sorry, mom," she murmured with a small, falsely bright grin and turned on her heel, urn clutched lightly between her hands, as she followed the rest of the family members that had already begun to file their way down the stairs and into the basement to begin the ceremonial tasks.

Kagome kept her eyes ahead of her as she moved, the cool, smooth ridges of the paint and porcelain against her fingers almost making her skin itch with the simple awareness of its presence. She feared that if she did not keep her mind focused on just getting through this stupid ceremony—which she'd done so many times since childhood, but had somehow recently taken on such a bizarre and ominous feeling—then she would slip; she would find herself lifting the urn's lid to peek inside nearly before she even realized what she was doing.

As she numbly and automatically picked her way down the always-so-ancient-seeming stone steps of the cellar it felt nearly as though she was entering a separate world entirely. The candlelight rippling off the roughhewn gray walls from thick red wax pillars placed in a circle, the wafting of thick plumes of incense of varying, mixed-together scents and dull, muddled sound of the family elders humming prayers no longer felt like benign tradition.

A chill whispered its way across her skin even as she tried to get a grip on herself, but there was no explaining it. Kagome was unreasonably, acutely aware as she'd never been before of how archaic this all was.

Kagome managed to make it down the stairs, but by the time she set her heeled shoes on the rough stone floor she wasn't exactly certain how she'd managed—not when there'd seemed to be a tiny voice in the back of her mind with every step she'd taken telling her that if she pretended to trip she could easily push the lid off of the urn _accidentally_ and peer inside and no one would be the wiser. But the idea that with her luck her imaginary spill down the steps would turn into a real one and she'd be too preoccupied with trying to stop herself from getting injured to be worried about the urn—or its possibly non-existent mystery contents—was a sobering thought.

She drew in a deep, steadying breath between pursed lips and let it out slowly, watching as the elders parted, making way as she approached the door where they left the offering. Unlike all of those previous offerings, however, as she was about to lower herself to her knees and place the urn on the floor her grandfather stepped up beside the door and pulled it open.

Uncertainly flooded her expression—the emotion somehow both tempered and sharpened by the anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach—as she looked at the shriveled old man expecting an answer. "A special moon approaches us shortly," he murmured softly, so as to not interrupt the faint chanting, "minor alterations to the ceremony are to be expected."

Kagome nodded slowly, trying not to let this bit of cryptic news add to her building unease. "Wh- what am I supposed to do?"

Her grandfather swept his arm outward, toward the little room. "Set the offering in the center of the altar, that's all."

Again she nodded, having to force legs that felt rooted to the spot into motion. She stepped into that little room and the incense-induced haze that her nervousness had been keeping at bay finally washed over her, despite there being no incense burning in here. The dark, damp-smelling space was bare, save for the illumination of two red pillar candles set in stands on either side of the altar.

The haze was muffling her thoughts a bit. When she knew she should have been focused on simply setting down the urn and leaving so that she could retreat to the imagined safety of her bedroom, she instead found her mind puzzling over the _altar._ It was not that she'd never noticed it before, simply that she'd never thought of it as an altar—just some bizarre, glorified platform in the middle of the room that served no real purpose—so it was nearly the same as if she'd not noticed.

Frowning lightly as she shook her head, trying to banish the dull fuzziness settling over her brain, Kagome placed the urn, but . . . try as she might, for a long moment she couldn't take her hands from it. Such a strange thing—she was telling her body to move, to drop her arms to her sides and turn on her heel to walk out of here and yet not an inch of her seemed willing to comply.

She let out a heavy sigh, allowing her eyes to drift closed as she tried to center herself, to focus her thoughts. Slowly the fog began to lift, but it was replaced quickly with a different sensation entirely. There was a warmth at her back . . . as though someone had silently crept up to stand closely behind her, but that wasn't possible- with her acute spacial awareness, she would have felt their energy before now. A _person_ could not have sneaked up on her, could not have appeared suddenly behind her this way.

Her eyes remained closed and it was a long moment before Kagome realized she was not breathing. It took a conscious effort to inhale as she struggled with herself as to whether or not to look over her shoulder. The warmth drew closer then, feeling like the body of a flesh and blood being was pressing softly against her back. There was an odd though faint familiarity that this energy brought with it, the sheer sense of it causing a mild blush to flare in her cheeks.

She found herself almost wanting to lean back against it—this was a jarring contrast to how this room had made her feel just a short time ago when she'd been peering in from the outside. That knowledge didn't change the perception one little bit. She wondered vaguely what it would be like to let herself be cradled by it . . . .

The whispered feel of skin moving against skin rippled down along her bare forearms; hands that weren't there rested ever so delicately over hers as her fingers continued to cling unconsciously to the urn.

"Kagome," she heard in a gentle, urgent murmur.

Just like that the energy had vanished and she was snapped, roughly, back into the moment. Eyes opening, she dropped her hands at last from the offering and looked over her shoulder to see her grandfather peering curiously into the room.

_How long have I been standing here_? She wondered, choosing to diligently ignore that for a brief, flickering moment she'd welcomed the presence of that mysterious entity—that she was for once oddly reluctant to leave the cellar.

She gave her grandfather a nod and a wan smile as she forced herself to exit the room and began following her relatives though the cloudy, candlelit space and up the stairs. The sound of the door to that little room slamming shut from below rang through her, leaving behind a hollow, forlorn feeling . . . . For a second, that room had seemed to take on a life of its own to her.

And that life was heartbreakingly lonely.


	4. Echoes in the Night

**Chapter Four**

Echoes in the Night

It felt like forever had passed before everyone had left and Kagome was snuggled down in her bed, the soft, deep green quilt pulled up under her chin as she tried to settle her restless mind. Try as she might, she simply could not push what had happened in that little room out of her thoughts. Chestnut eyes locked on the ridges of the darkened, vaulted ceiling above her as she attempted to sort through the left over emotions. It would have been easier, perhaps, had that energy not felt familiar. That familiarity had not been simple to place, either.

Only when she recalled her own reaction—that something about it had caused a warm, tingling blush to flare in her cheeks—that she thought she grasped who or what it was. By the time this occurred to her, however, her mind was reluctantly slipping into the first, soft, cozy folds of slumber. Kagome knew, even as her conscious thoughts began to slide away, what to expect from the dream that was about to envelope her.

* * *

_When she again opened her eyes her room was flooded with soft, glimmering moonlight and the air around her felt weighty, but soft, somehow. This wasn't right; she distinctly remembered closing the curtains before she'd gotten into bed. Before she'd even turned her head to look toward the window, she knew what she would see, that he would be there. She could already smell the scent of his skin- strangely wild and brisk, always reminding her of the garden after a rainstorm- knew how much he enjoyed looking out at the moon._

_Kagome slowly pulled herself to sit up as she turned to look over at him, aware of how loud the shifting rustle of the quilt around her must seem in the dead quiet of the night, to find him already watching her. His long silvery hair shone white and glittering in the moonlight, his gold eyes gleamed as though they somehow reflected the brightness at his back, as well._

_Long, lean-muscled arms were folded loosely across his bare chest and she held in a wistful sigh at the sight of that perfect, golden-tinged alabaster skin. He never seemed to be clad in anything more than a pristine white Feudal period-style_ hakama_, even his feet were bare._

_"Once more you call me into your dreams," he said softly as he padded silently across the floor toward her._

_Somehow she always seemed to know what he was intending and she shifted forward on the bed in response to that unbidden knowledge, making room for him to settle behind her. "No I didn't," she shook her head as he slid his legs beneath the quilt to rest alongside hers, "you just always show up here."_

_"You are simply unaware that you are doing it," he challenged, sliding his hands gently down the length of her arms until his fingers intertwined with hers._

_Kagome let her head fall to one side against his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed as he lowered his mouth to brush gently over the pulse in her throat. "Will you tell me who you are?"_

_"Will you be angered if I do not?"_

_She thought that over, pulling his arms tightly around her beneath the quilt and snuggling back against him. His voice was always so calm, so level . . . somehow, though, she felt that being the target of someone's anger was not anything new for him—perhaps he was even expecting that—but no, anger was not what came to her mind._

_Frowning, she delicately rubbed the pads of her thumbs over his knuckles. "No, but it would make me sad."_

_"Sad?" He echoed as though that tiny word puzzled him._

_"Yes. No one in my waking life is honest with me . . . it would hurt to think someone I only ever see in my dreams is keeping something from me, too."_

_He seemed to take a moment with this, during which she could feel the deep, steady rise and fall of his chest behind her as he breathed. "I am Sesshomaru."_

_"Sesshomaru," she said the name slowly, as though she was testing the weight of it on her tongue, the way it sounded falling from between her lips._

_This . . . this simple, tender closeness was the same. This was the same warm, tingling familiarity she had felt earlier, during the ceremony when she'd been all alone . . . . "Sesshomaru?"_

_"Yes, Kagome?"_

_She did not give a start at his easy use of her name- he'd known it the very first time she'd found him lazily and gracefully traipsing across her dreamscape. "Is it you? I mean," she paused, running the tip of her tongue over her suddenly parched lips and starting over, "Are you what's in that little room in the cellar?"_

_His breathing slowed behind her and she could tell that, even with how minimally his face changed to reflect his expressions, he was frowning. "I am never truly anywhere," he murmured hollowly, his voice barely a thread of sound in the still night air._

_Sesshomaru's words, his tone, were so sad that it caused a thick, painful lump to lodge in the center of Kagome's throat. She knew what had to be done to quell his loneliness for even a brief, flickering moment—had always simply understood how much comfort he took from physical contact—and shifted and shuffled against him until she had her nightgown tugged up enough that she could pull his arms beneath the fabric. She placed his arms around her bare waist and then lifted her own, slipping her hands under his silky hair to link them behind his neck, leaving him to do what he wished._

_He let out a deep, heavy sigh, running his fingers in gentle caresses along the skin of her abdomen and then higher, tracing the under-curve of her breasts. "Sometimes," he whispered, his voice sounded strangely primal and guttural for a moment, like he was restraining himself, "this is enough."_

_"You're holding back," she observed, knowing to follow what she felt in her gut when it came to him._

_"Yes."_

_"Why, Sesshomaru?"_

_Again he took a long moment. She knew those beautiful golden eyes had drifted closed, and he was silent for so long that she thought he was not going to furnish her with an answer at all._

_"Because," he finally said, his voice barely audible, despite his mouth being so close to her ear, "it is _you_."_

_"Me?" she repeated, the word feeling heavy with meaning for a reason she knew she didn't grasp._

_He nodded slowly, his arms tightening around her for a brief moment. "Because you are not like the others."_

* * *

Kagome bolted upright in her bed, gasping for air. Her eyes darted immediately around her still darkened room, looking for any sign that something was amiss as she played the dream over in her head.

_Sesshomaru . . . ._

He was _here_—he'd been right here! She turned quickly on the bed, running her hands over the mattress around her and immediately snatched her hands back. The surface all around her, where the sheet should have been cool to the touch, was deeply warm, as though someone had been lying with her for a long while.

She clamped her hands over her mouth, tears of uncertainty and shock pinging the corners of her eyes suddenly. An echo of that last interrupted conversation with her sister rang through her head, then.

"_Have you been having . . . dreams? I_—_I mean about a man with silver hair?"_

"_You, um, you know about that? Do you have them, too?"_

"_Not exactly . . . I catch glimpses sometimes. I just wanted to know where they were coming from. Besides, I don't think he's interested in me."_

"_Don't think he's . . . . You're talking about, well, him like he's an actual person."_

"_I don't know that he is, but_—_"_

But . . . ? She needed to find a way to talk to Kikyou again. She needed to know what her twin had been about to say.

More troubling to her still, though, was what he—what _Sesshomaru_—had said. _Because you are not like the others_. She lowered trembling fingers, running them once more over the mysteriously warm spot around her on the bed.

Just who had he been talking about?


	5. Snapshots

**As this fic is drawing to a close in the next 3 chapters, I would just like to give a heads up. This story is told in the style of**—**and was inspired by****—an Asian supernatural horror film.** **I feel the need to state this so no one rages at me over the ending (let's just say there were a few readers over on Dokuga who tried to demand that I do something to change the outcome, because apparently they'd forgotten that this is a horror story).**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Snapshots

"Please," Kagome whispered through the door, touching it lightly with the tips of her fingers, "I need to know what you meant."

A few agonizing days of silence and inactivity had passed before Kagome had been able to slip back into the attic to seek out her sister. Their birthday was still another day away and their mother and grandfather had spontaneously mentioned needing to run into town to make preparations for the big day. This had struck her a little strange—certainly Kagome's birthdays had always received special attention, but she didn't ever recall any real fuss being made before. And to do so abruptly like this didn't quite sit well with her, either, but then a girl did only turn eighteen once.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Kagome, but I really don't know what I meant," Kikyou murmured contritely, "not exactly."

Kagome couldn't help frowning at her sister through the thick wood as though she could see her. "O—kay . . . what does _that _mean?"

There was a long pause and Kagome somehow simply knew that Kikyou was fidgeting on the other side, even though she didn't hear any telltale sounds like the rustle of fabric or movement against the floorboards. "It just . . . I don't know, sometimes when I'm stuck watching your dreams . . . it feels like he's _real_."

If only to spare herself from having to say _what __do __you __mean_ for the third time, Kagome muttered, "I'm not sure I understand. Feels real compared to what?"

A heavy sigh filtered through the surface separating them, but it was not a sound of exasperation, rather a sound of someone grappling for how to explain a foreign concept. "You . . . you remember how you said that you can feel people's energy?"

"Yeah."

"I can, too, but it's different. Maybe because I'm never actually around 'people' it comes to me through dreams. Sometimes we dream about people that really exist somewhere in the world just because they're on the same sort of wavelength with us, spiritually speaking, I guess. We might not have anything in common with them, we may never meet them in the physical world, but for that moment we're linked with them."

Kagome remained quiet, but it was very much on the tip of her tongue to ask if this was why Kikyou didn't ever seem truly lonely or bitter about her situation—because she managed to understand that her dreams were windows into living a real life, with _real_ people, if only for a few precious scraps of time here and there. She didn't dare, though. It was always too painful to openly remind her sister of her circumstances, no matter how obvious it was in every moment.

Instead she ventured, "How is it that you know about this sort of stuff?"

Kikyou responded easily in a bright tone that utterly mystified her twin. "I asked mommy to get me books on dreams, so she did."

The chipper note present in Kikyou's voice, coupled with that childlike term of endearment made Kagome's eyes well up instantly. "How can you call that woman that?"

"I don't understand what you mean," Kikyou's words tumbled out slowly, clearly trying to grasp the intent of her sister's question and failing.

Kagome rested her forehead against the door. "How can you talk about our mother so happily?"

"But," Kikyou paused, only to pick up a moment later, her voice thick with sudden tears, "mommy takes care of me . . . as best as the family will let her."

Blinking rapidly, Kagome fluttered her hands over her cheeks to wipe away any droplets that might have escaped her eyes as she pulled herself to sit up straight. "Oh, Kikyou, I'm sorry, please don't cry—_please_!" After all, was she really any better than their mother? She knew Kikyou was up here, she was going to be an adult soon enough—why didn't she have the courage to speak up and demand that the family release Kikyou from confinement?

_That__'__s __it!_ Kagome thought with almost feverish conviction. After she was legally old enough to be considered an adult she was going to come up here the next time the house was empty, open this door- break it down if she had to—and take Kikyou away from this place—by force if necessary. She knew that Kikyou would not understand at first . . . and vehemently ignored the stinging pain that accompanied the realization that she might be leaving behind whatever it was that tied her to the lonely, possibly imaginary, shade, Sesshomaru.

"No, no," Kikyou murmured, sparing a moment to sniffle. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get upset. Let's talk about something else, please! I don't like being sad when we talk, Kagome."

Kagome nodded, having to force out a sniffle of her own before going on with their previous discussion. "We were talking about _him_. So I guess you were saying that you can tell in dreams when the people you're dreaming about are real or not?"

"Yeah. Their energy feels different than a person appearing in a dream who's just a figment of the dreamer's imagination."

Chestnut eyes narrowed in confused thought. "But you said you're not sure if he's real or not. How can that be?"

"I don't know," Kikyou said simply and Kagome could tell she was shrugging. "It's just . . . sometimes he feels real and sometimes he doesn't. I can't explain it any better than that because I don't _know_ how anyone could be both."

Giving another helpless frown, Kagome murmured, "Neither do I. Kikyou . . . ."

"What?"

_Do _mommy _or __grandpa __ever __hurt __you __when __they __come __up __here?_ It was another thing that was on the tip of Kagome's tongue to ask, but even as she felt the words trying to form on her lips she found that she couldn't bring herself to say it—not when she'd nearly brought her sister to hysterics by almost speaking harshly about their mother just a few moments ago.

"Never mind," Kagome muttered simply, returning her attention to the conversation at hand. "I really wish I understood what he was. I feel like he's somehow part of us."

"I don't know, maybe he is. Maybe you're remembering a past life or something," Kikyou said with a light, musical lift to her voice, as though she found the concept dreamy—probably due to some fairy tale romance she'd read in one of her many books, Kagome reasoned. "Ya know what? Every now and again when mommy has the door open I see grandfather going through the steamer trunk that's under the window. I've always wondered what's there, 'cause he never says anything . . . he just reaches inside, then looks over at me and shakes his head, like he's sad."

With a feeling like ice water was creeping slowly across her shoulder, trickling steadily and sluggishly down her spine, Kagome turned and fixed her gaze on the very trunk of which her sister was speaking. "Hey, hey," Kikyou said suddenly, snapping her twin's attention back to the moment, "I think I hear the car coming up the drive, you have to go!"

"Okay!" Kagome shot to her feet, no time for long, weepy goodbyes now, she thought as she made the split-second decision to race over to the steamer trunk.

She sank to the floor immediately, remembering quickly enough that she might be seen thought the window if her mother or grandfather happened to glance up toward the attic. Fumbling with the lid's thick, metal clasp- more a virtue of her suddenly nervous fingers than anything else- she found it unlocked and threw the lid back, knowing she didn't have the luxury of time to ease it open.

"Wha-?" She breathed the sound so softly she barely heard it herself.

All that was staring back at her was a thick, antiquated-looking scrap book. By this time, Kikyou must've realized she'd not heard the attic door close because she was suddenly whispering loudly and urgently, "Kagome- you have to go now, please!"

Kagome snatched the book from the trunk and dropped the lid back into place—she could always tell them she'd knocked something over in her room if they heard anything from outside—and made a dash, hurriedly crawling the first few steps to be away from the window, bolting out of the attic on unsteady footsteps that sounded _way_ too loud in the deafening silence surrounding her. She all but threw the attic door shut behind her and jumped down the stairs, a fearing she sprained something when she landed painfully hard on the balls of her sneakered feet, but kept moving, reaching the door of her bedroom just as the door of the front entryway began to swing open.

Frantically scrambling to turn the knob, she managed to open it and drop the book inside her room just in time for her mother to look up and catch her gaze.

"Kagome," Aiko's voice sounded the tiniest bit suspicious, chilling Kagome to her bones, "are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Huh?" Kagome blinked rapidly a few times, piecing together anything from the last few minutes that she could use to explain her unsettled appearance as she turned her back to her open door and gave the book on the floor a good, thrusting shove with her foot to send it sailing under the bed—it seemed only by the grace of the gods that it didn't hit the wall and make a telling _thud_.

"No, mom," she said slowly, shaking her head as she closed her door and stepped—with a forced limp—toward the staircase to the main floor. "I was trying to get something from the back of one of my drawers and, well, I guess I pulled the drawer out too far, 'cause it hit me in the knee. _Really_ hard," she added for emphasis, going wide eyed and donning an expression as though she was trying not to cry as she hobbled down the stairs.

"Oh, my baby!" Aiko practically cooed, all but tossing her armful of brown paper bags at her father-in-law. "You come sit right down and we'll see if you're bruised!"

Kagome nodded, forcing an appreciative—if weak—smile as she did as her mother asked.

* * *

That night, after tossing aside the perhaps tenth ice pack her mother had forced on her, Kagome had squirreled out from hiding a night light that she'd not used since she'd been a little girl. She wasn't certain why she'd kept it, tucked away in the far recesses of her sock drawer, simply that she'd liked the crescent moon shape of the tiny, pale blue lamp.

Sneaking it into a fixture—nearly as though she were afraid one of her porcelain dolls would spring to life and run off to tattle on her—she snapped on the night light and fished the scrap book out from beneath her bed. A frown immediately tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was nothing more than snapshots of time. Copies of old paintings, aged photographs, in some cases, pictures clipped from newspaper articles or simple Polaroids.

She didn't understand at all what she was looking at. They were in chronological order, showing different branches—scattered even in those days to different countries—of the family during varied periods, but why would her grandfather be hiding this? Didn't most grandparents insist on making their descendants pour over family albums?

A gentle pressure touched her jaw, then. It stole the breath from her lungs in a quick, startled gasp, but she knew better than to fight the bizarre sensation by now, instead letting the pressure guide her, as that was what it seemed to want. When the feeling faded, Kagome found herself staring down at a corner of the image before her. Her lips pulled into a tight, grim line.

Hoisting the book up closer and leaning toward the meager light from that pale blue crescent, she peered intently at the picture. There, peeking out from around a corner—as though he was not supposed to be seen—was the face of a little boy. Kagome lightly traced the tip of a finger over the visage. His dark brows were bunched together, mouth wide in a grin that said he was doing something he knew he shouldn't. But . . . his hair . . . .

Despite the thick, dark brows, his hair was very light, appearing stark white in the black and white still, and his eyes were pale, too- large and pale and glossy, unlike the small, dark eyes of her ancestors that populated the foreground of the image. _Who __was __he?_ She wondered. Where had he come from? Perhaps in a different photo there was a Westerner she'd missed?

Kagome flipped back to a previous page and felt her fingers go numb. No Westerners . . . but another child, bearing a startling resemblance to the first boy she'd noticed. But that wasn't possible—the dates were too far apart, they had to be two different children. She held in a trembling sigh as she looked to another page . . . found another pale-haired, pale-eyed child peeking out at the camera from a corner, or a window or behind a staircase banister . . . in every single picture.

In the color images from more recent decades, she could see that these children had silvery-white hair and eyes like burnished amber. All these children hidden in her family, scattered across time and lands . . . .

And somehow . . . they all looked like her Sesshomaru.

* * *

**(The whole Kikyou calling their mother 'mommy' part made me a li'l teary for some reason :/. )**


	6. Ceremonial Offerings

**Chapter Six**

Ceremonial Offerings

Kagome stepped out of the shower delicately, her head swimming, still, from a restless night's sleep. She didn't bother wading through the steam to examine herself in the foggy bathroom mirror—she was well aware she probably looked like death warmed over. Mother had been so insistent on dragging her out of bed. True that it was already late in the afternoon, but one would think a girl could at least be permitted to sleep the day away when it was her _birth_day.

Ghostly images of pale-haired children clad in attire from eras long past had floated through her mind the entire night. Half way through she began to think that the next time she tossed or turned in bed, she might find herself face-to-face with such an apparition. It was not until slivers of pre-dawn crept through her windows to alleviate the darkness that she started to drift off to sleep.

But then she could hardly tell her mother why she was so very wrung out, therefore, letting the woman wake her had been her only true option. She found it odd that after the fuss her mother and grandfather had made about preparing for her birthday, Aiko had not said anything about it when she'd been in Kagome's room earlier. If anything, her mother seemed uncharacteristically anxious . . . almost jittery. It was enough, all on its own, to strip what meager rest she'd gotten this morning of any restorative ability, she wasn't certain she wanted to add it to the list of things that had piqued her curiosity about her family in the last week.

She wished that Sesshomaru had shown himself last night—that he could have comforted her in some way—even as she still puzzled and worried over him somehow being real. With a heavy sigh, she finally opened the door and stepped out into her bedroom.

Her damp skin prickled with a sudden chill that had precious little to do with the cooler air outside of the bathroom as she laid eyes on a new red dress carefully placed across her bed. Once again, Aiko had sneaked in while Kagome showered, but this time the girl was truly unsettled by the sight.

They had just made an offering days ago, why was she expected to dress for another so soon? She let her towel drop to the floor and stepped lightly toward her bed, reaching down with minutely trembling fingers to touch the beautiful, rich crimson silk. She tried to piece together what this could mean, but failed, knowing well that she did not possess enough information.

Perhaps it was simply a pretty dress her mother thought she would like to have—something special to wear for her birthday—the color could be a coincidence; there were many red dresses in the world, after all. Kagome shook her head. She knew these were just things she was telling herself to calm her nerves, but she couldn't deny the simple logic of it. The plain truth was that there _could_ possibly be no meaning behind this gesture, at all, no matter how reluctant she might be to believe that.

She couldn't put off leaving the room forever, regardless of how much she might want to, so she picked up the dress and busied her mind with simply attiring herself as she would for any other celebration. Maybe she could pretend that she believed Mother and Grandpa were taking her out to dinner.

The dress truly was as beautiful as she'd thought at first glance—like a modern take on the Grecian toga, the gleaming red fabric gathered over one shoulder, but left the other bare, to drape down her back. She was a little put off that it was so formal, though, the hem swept the floor, but fit snuggly from neckline to hip, if not for a slit in one side that came up to mid-thigh, she doubted she'd be able to walk in the damned thing.

She slid her feet into her strappy black heels and crossed the room, but when she opened her door, what she heard from the house was . . . nothing. And the quiet chilled her to her core.

"C'mon, Kagome, you're braver than this," she whispered to herself when she found that her feet did not seem to want to cross the threshold of her bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and forced her legs to move, to walk her out into the hallway and down the staircase. Her fear only grew, hovering around her, draping itself over her shoulders like some great, breathing thing as she turned to look into the parlor, only to discover the room to be entirely vacant.

_Where is everyone? _She thought, her inner voice falsely calm as she continued to the first floor. But, as with the parlor, there was no one in the kitchen, or dining room, or even out in the garden. For a moment, she considered running up into the attic to check on Kikyou, but it would be just her luck that someone would walk into the house right then and catch her acting upon knowledge she was not supposed to have. She would not risk that—they might somehow find a way to blame Kikyou, and that was a thing she would not allow.

As she stepped back inside the house from her search of the garden, she spied the cellar door.

The _open_ cellar door.

Letting out a trembling breath, Kagome shook out her hands and started across the room. "That's—that's probably where they are, I . . . ." She paused, forcing a gulp down her throat before she could continue coaxing herself. "I should have checked the basement first. Yeah, I'm probably just late, so they started without me."

By the time she'd finished speaking, she was standing in that open door way. But there was no sound coming from below, either. Odd, because she could see the flicking light of candles dancing along the wall and smell the incense—barely detectable from the rest of the house, but the thick plumes of it hanging in the air were quite visible in the staircase.

Nodding, she steeled herself against what might await her at the bottom of the stairs and proceeded carefully and slowly downward. The smoke invaded her senses, as it always did, making her head foggy and her limbs feel tingly, and the world around her slightly detached.

She was so out of sorts by the time she reached the bottom that she couldn't be certain on which step, precisely, she'd began murmuring the family's ceremonial chant purely out of habit.

_Out of habit? _That was what she told herself, yet it didn't feel only like habit. She understood, with an odd starkness to the thought, that she was free to turn around and leave, that she didn't _have_ come down into the cellar. Kagome didn't have to do any of this and yet, it felt as though she had to.

It was an unsettling realization, as though she was giving a performance she'd never truly known she was rehearsing for.

Like this was inevitable.

She wasn't even surprised, as she stepped away from the bottom stair, to see that while the incense burned and the candles flickered, she was alone in the cellar. Yet the lack of expected family members did not matter. She knew this with a fuzzy, distant sort of certainty. What mattered was going ahead with the ceremony. Only then could she know what was happening.

She drew in a deep breath, forcefully holding back a cough from the sweet, thick air flooding into her lungs, and walked to the door of the little chamber. The sound of her heels hitting the stone floor kept her strangely aware of how alone she was down here, despite the dreamlike quality of all other sensations.

As she peered into the room, she saw the urn atop the stone platform. She almost wanted to call it an altar, but the connotation of that word, alone, scared her, threatening to pull that soft, dulling blanket from her conscious thoughts.

Kagome stepped into the chamber and up to the platform, only noting after having gotten this far that unlike their usual ceremony, this time there were incense and candles in here, as well. But it was not the same as outside, no. This incense was sweeter, richer somehow, allowing her senses to clear a little, but making her body feel light, her limbs languid.

The door swung softly, yet not silently, closed and she glanced over her shoulder, but was too relaxed and distanced from the moment to do much more than give a questioning furrow of her brow. Turning back to the urn, she reached out and touched it, immediately pulling her hand back.

It had felt warm and alive beneath her skin.

She recalled dully that she had been waiting for a moment such as this—unsupervised with the urn—and she knew with a strange finality that whatever was happening was what her family had been waiting for. This was what they'd been keeping from her, she had the right to know what she had been carrying dutifully for them all these years.

Gingerly removing the ceramic lid, she looked inside and immediately stifled a gasp. "Please, gods, _no_," she said softly, but she knew . . . it was blood. Kikyou's blood; it had always been Kikyou's blood.

But, as that beautiful quilt that had wrapped and cushioned her awareness only moments ago fell away, her revulsion and horror were already outweighed by fear at the sudden certainty that she was no longer alone. There was someone behind her.

Someone standing so close she could feel the warmth of their body against hers.


	7. Untainted Sacrifice

**Chapter Seven**

Untainted Sacrifice

Long, leanly muscled arms draped over hers, and she recognized them instantly.

"Sesshomaru?"

"I am so sorry," he murmured evenly.

Kagome watched in a daze as he dipped a finger into the urn. The blood drained, slowly, but steadily, absorbing into his skin.

She tried to pull away from him, but found herself trapped between his body and the altar. It was no simple platform, as she forced herself to believe for so long, this slab of rock was _always_ an altar! Instead, she turned in his arms, lifting her tear dampened gaze to stare up at him.

A moment passed before she understood how serious this was, that there was something she should worry over, but her head swam, and her body was acutely aware of how close he stood. "How could you?"

Even as she asked, she lifted her hands, trailing her fingertips along his collarbone and then lower, over the lines of his chest.

The gulp he forced down his throat as he watched her exploration was audible. "I have no choice. Such is the only sustenance I am allowed."

His tone was so . . . resigned that her heart wrenched. She felt a little stupid, as though she couldn't follow logical thought right now. "Allowed by who?" The answer couldn't be what she thought—this had to be some spiritual rule that governed beings like whatever Sesshomaru was.

"The Higurashi Clan."

She thought time stopped around them as she tried to make that sink in. "Why?" It was all she could say as a wash of tears sprang into her eyes, even as he gently cupped her cheeks in his hands.

"This is the way of things. For centuries. They allow me no other purpose." He delicately brushed the pads of his thumbs beneath her eyes. "Shed no tears for me, I have only this existence."

"But . . . no," he was so beautiful, and so sad . . . so eternally sad. Whatever he was, didn't he deserve more than this? "We can leave!"

"We," he echoed, as though the word made him happy. "No. I cannot. They . . . _own_ me. That is the purpose of the blood. It keeps me bound to them. They own me, as they own you."

Even as he spoke, she felt a warm pulse thrumming through her. He told her something shattering and yet, in her mind's eye, she could only see sordid pictures. She imagined him tearing her dress from her body; imagined what it would be like to stroke her hand lower, over his abdomen, down the flat plane between his hips . . . .

"I never wanted you this way," he whispered, lowering his head to rest his lips lightly over hers as he continued. "You have never been like the others."

"Others?" She stepped out of her heels and pushed them aside, delighted when he moved with her, his mouth never far from hers.

He said this to her before, hadn't he? That night in her bed . . . before she found those pictures of the children.

Like a bolt of lightning, the awareness of what was happening—what had been happening in this family for centuries—tore through her. She drew in a startled, trembling gasp against his lips and pulled away enough to look up into his eyes again. "They . . . use you like an animal! To—to breed? I don't . . . I don't understand!"

"I am a demon, Kagome. I am . . . I _was_ a demon of fortune. Baring a child of my blood grants prosperity upon the family into which that child is born."

She listened, tried to make sense of his words, but it couldn't be possible. Demons didn't exist! Her family couldn't expect her to sacrifice her virginity, to bring a life into the world, all so they could ensure their continued affluence!

Yet . . . here they were.

Those children were Sesshomaru's children.

And still she wondered what his skin tasted like, wondered how it would feel to look down and see his mouth moving over her bared breasts. What was wrong with her?

"This is not a fate I wish upon you," he whispered, even as he began slipping her dress off of her shoulders.

She wondered, distantly, how many times he'd been forced to do this. How many of her ancestors had her family made him impregnate just so they'd keep their wealth and standing? But wait, didn't he just say he didn't want her?

Had she misjudged his seeming intimacy during the nights he'd visited her? She could only hold on to her thoughts for a few, glimmering seconds at a time, but she knew she wanted to hold him close and comfort him.

Even while the darker recesses of her mind wanted to hold him close for an entirely different purpose.

"You don't want me the way you had the 'others?'"

"No," he replied simply, despite dragging her dress down to expose her breasts before cupping the soft weight of them in his hands.

Kagome shuddered, arching her back to press her skin more tightly against his palms.

"None of them ever thought to care about me," his voice was a gravelly murmur as he circled her nipples with the tips of his thumbs. "But you . . ." he rocked his hips forward, trapping her against the altar. "You have cried for me."

Kagome moaned helplessly, feeling the hardened bulge between his legs against her. She tried to wriggle out of the rest of her dress without displacing him at all.

He lowered his face, whispering in her ear. "You heart hurts when you think of that which my existence has been reduced to. Such compassion is a thing I have never known. And so, I want you. But not this way, yet . . . this is all we will ever be allowed."

Sesshomaru pulled away from her, put only long enough to remove his hakama. He was on her again so quickly, she barely had time to see what he looked like wholly naked.

He brought his mouth down on hers, sighing into her before plunging his tongue between her lips, his hands sliding along her body, over her hips and back to cup her bottom.

Kagome gave a small, whimpering moan as she gently caught his tongue between her teeth, nibbling and suckling at it. His pained groaned was music to her ears as he ground his pelvis forward against her. Instinct told her to lift her leg, to place it over her hip.

He moved a hand along her leg, catching her thigh in mid-motion. "Not yet," he murmured, returning his hands to her hips and lifting her backward to sit upon the altar.

She realized dully—as she registered just how little she cared that they'd knocked the porcelain urn to the ground, shattering it—that the incense they were breathing in contained some aphrodisiac.

His hands slid under her knees to part her legs and stepped closer, pressing his hardened length between her thighs. "I have wanted to taste you," he whispered, before dropping to his knees. It delighted him how wet she already was for him.

She felt his fingers part her, gasping as his tongue swept over her. He lapped at her lovingly, working delicate beaded flesh in quick, circular motions until she writhed beneath his mouth. Her fingers gripped into his hair as she moved against him, rocking her hips until she cried out, her body going taut.

He carried her through the orgasm, sucking and licking at her flesh until she was spent.

Oddly, she thought she heard him whisper words of thanks as he stood again and moved her legs to rest over his hips.

"For what?" she asked, dazed.

From his look, she could tell he'd not realized she heard him. "For not being like the others," he replied as he settled his hands over her hips and lifted her. "I am sorry, but this may hurt."

Kagome only nodded and braced herself. He entered her slowly, pushing until he could get no deeper and she lowered her head, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to keep from crying out, but the pain she awaited was fleeting as he continued sliding into her and withdrawing. After a few moments, only a lingering soreness accompanied his thrusts and she began to move against him.

Unclenching her teeth, she slid her arms around him as she dropped a line of kisses from the bite mark she left on his shoulder, down across his chest where she caught one of his nipples between her teeth and suckled playfully at it.

Sesshomaru groaned, his hands holding her securely against him as he moved them to lay on the altar. He resumed his thrusts, relishing the feel of her so tight and warm, so very, very wet, around his length.

Entirely too soon, that tight warmth became tighter, still, as her body clenched around him. But the scent of salty dampness tickled his nose.

He pulled back only enough to see her face clearly. His heart stuttered. Kagome was crying.

"You're not hurting me," she managed immediately, once she realized he'd noticed.

His thrusts paused, and, almost laughably, Kagome was mad at him for it. "Then why do you cry?"

"They're going to send you away after this, aren't they?"

Those gold eyes dropped from hers.

"That's why this ritual moves from branch to branch, because after this happens, they send you away to start this whole thing all over again in another part of the family." What they were doing to him disgusted her.

"Yes," he said sadly, truthfully.

"And we'll never be like this again. When this is over, you'll just . . . ."

He nodded slowly, raising his gaze to hers, finally. "Do you know that I do not remember any of their names?"

"No?"

Sesshomaru shook his head. He knew what she was about to ask, but she didn't need to. "You, Kagome, I will never forget."

His voice was thick, in a way that, too her, made it sound as though he was on the verge of tears. Though, she had trouble picturing a creature such as he crying.

She sniffled, and took a trembling breath. "None of it matters, does it? They'll take you away even if we don't finish?"

"Yes, and they would blame me," he said, his tone grave.

"So then," she forced a smile, trying to ignore how her body was screaming at her that they were taking too much time as it was, "where were we?"

Smiling serenely, he pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead and, still hard, wrapped up inside her as he was, he withdrew his length almost entirely before thrusting into her, hard and deep, again and again.

Kagome's hands wandered over every inch of him she could reach. She wanted to remember as much of the feel of his skin beneath her fingers as was humanly possible. She wanted to recall every sound he made, every breath, every rumbling groan.

Her body began to tense and she wanted to yell in frustration, it was too soon, but then, as he ground his hips forward, and pulled back, plunging his length into her, she realized that no matter how long they lasted, she would feel as though it wasn't time enough.

Not with such an inevitable fate.

She threw her head back, crying out his name as the orgasm tore through her.

A fine tremor went through him as his own muscles grew taut. He couldn't help himself, she was too tight, too warm, too deliciously wet; the sound of her moaning his name too sweet.

He gave in, sinking his teeth into the flesh on the side of her throat as he came.

Kagome writhed, her hips jerking as she moved against him in a dizzying mix of pleasure and pain.

When it was over, he pulled her to lay, curled up in his arms, on the altar. A bit of crimson stained his lips.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered, suddenly sleepy.

Sesshomaru sighed heavily, pressing a kiss to her ear before resting his head back against the stone. "To remember what every part of you tastes like."

As she fell asleep, Kagome thought that to be the most wonderful answer to anything, ever.


	8. Fortune's Child

**And as we enter this last chapter, I would simply like to say . . . **

**I hope no one's forgotten this is a _horror_ story. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Fortune's Child

Kagome drifted to consciousness slowly, her eyes blinking open in slow, lazy flickers. The last thing she recalled was falling asleep in Sesshomaru's arms in that horrible little room. Now her own bedroom came into focus around her.

As did the faces of her family, hovering over her with equal looks of joy and concern.

Aiko sat beside her, wiping a cool, damp cloth over her daughter's face. "Finally, you're awake," the woman said, smiling.

Kagome flinched at the sweetness in Aiko's tone. Frowning, she tried to pull away, but the exertion from such a simple act drained her. She had to force her eyes to stay open.

"No, no, don't," Aiko whispered softly. "You're still weak. It's natural while your body adjusts to carrying one of Fortune's Children."

The girl bit back a horrified gasp. She really had been impregnated by Sesshomaru that night. _That night?_

"How long has it been?" she asked, sudden tears clogging her throat. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few days." Aiko shrugged, setting down the cloth and lifting a glass of water. "Your body needs the rest."

Kagome felt an arm under her, pulling her to sit up just a bit. Her gaze darted to the glass, and then to the person holding her up. Aunt Kaede was there, an approving grin on her chubby, wrinkled face.

Clenching her teeth, Kagome returned her attention to her mother. "You've already sent him away, haven't you?"

"Don't trouble yourself with such a thing. Come now, you have to drink, and try to eat something."

Kagome knew what that reply meant. _Don't ask, because you're not going to like the answer._ Which meant yes, Sesshomaru was gone.

She mustered what little strength she had, knocking the glass from her mother's hands.

"Kagome—" Aunt Kaede started.

"I want nothing from any of you," Kagome said in a lethal whisper, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"She's simply still tired," Grandpa's kindly, aged voice called from the back of the room. "She'll be more reasonable after a bit more rest, I'm sure. Let's leave her be for the moment."

Nodding, though her expression was still quite displeased, Aunt Kaede lay Kagome back down against the pillows. She pressed an very much unwanted kiss to the girl's forehead and then scurried off.

Aiko smiled, sad and serene as she swept some of Kagome's long, dark hair back from her face. "You'll be fine, just rest, as your grandfather says."

Once more, Kagome flinched away from her mother's touch.

Her mother's smile faded, as though she didn't understand why Kagome was upset. Kagome realized with a painful thudding in the center of her chest that the woman _didn't_ understand—_couldn't_ understand.

None of them did.

Sesshomaru was nothing more than a glorified good luck charm to them. But to her . . . .

Alone in the room at last, Kagome curled in on herself, weeping. She could feel it—the emptiness of the house. She could _feel _that he was no longer here. And the hollowness of that sensation tore great, wracking sobs from her.

Yet she did not have the strength to sustain the emotional turmoil, eventually drifting back to sleep, her cheeks still damp with her tears.

* * *

She wasn't certain how much time had passed when she next opened her eyes. The house was dark, silent. No one hovered in the room, waiting for her.

Not even her mother had returned?

Frowning, Kagome winced as she forced herself to sit up. She still hadn't gained back much of her strength, but she felt a tiny bit sturdier than before, which begged a question.

How long had she slept, this time?

Carefully shifting on the bed, she set her feet on the floor and stood. For a moment, the world rocked and swam around her. Shaking her head, she braced a palm against the wall, waiting for the spinning to subside.

When her head cleared, she gave herself another little shake and pushed away from the wall. The air of the house felt . . . strange. Somehow more hollow than before.

Swallowing hard, she took a few, wobbling steps, moving delicately until she was certain she could walk without falling down. Kagome drew a deep breath, forcing an entirely false sense of calm over herself as she made it to her bedroom door.

As she opened it and stepped into the corridor, a terrible sense of unease settled, cold and prickling, in the pit of her stomach. There was nothing. The house was perfectly still and silent.

Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break her ribs as she inched along toward the staircase to the first floor. She drew steadily nearer, and still no sound came from below.

Biting hard into her bottom lip, she clung to the railing as she made her way down the stairs and looked out into the parlor. No one. And yet . . . .

The door to the cellar stood open.

Kagome felt the breath tear out of her lungs. They _never_ left that door open.

Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to hold her head high. Blinking back a wash of frightened tears, she walked in ginger movements across the floor, stopping as she was almost at the door.

"Mom? Aunt Kaede?" Her voice shook as the syllables tumbled from her lips.

_Silence._

Then why was the door open?

She didn't want to go down there. Kagome knew that with a weighted certainty that screamed in the back of her mind. Yet, she had to. The source of the not-rightness in the house was _there_.

And she _had _to know.

She balled her hands into fists so tight her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. The stinging snapped her to attention, allowed her to will her weak legs into motion.

When she reached the cellar door, a rich, coppery scent stung her nose. Something about that scent was familiar . . . and terribly wrong.

Covering her mouth and nose with one hand, she reached through the door with the other, bracing her palm against the rough stone wall. Kagome squinted, trying to make out shapes in the darkness as she eased herself down the steps, her eyes adjusting far too slowly for her liking.

As blurry, dark shapes took form before her, she couldn't seem to stop herself from continuing downward. Her mind refused to believe what she saw for a few stretched and painful heartbeats.

But then she stepped onto the floor, a thick, cold liquid coating the soles of her bare feet. Forcing a breath, she blinked hard, her gaze roving about the bodies strewn about.

Her brow furrowed, uncertainty as to what she should feel gnawing at her. Had Sesshomaru somehow caused this?

A gasp tore out of her as a terrible thought struck. She counted the bodies, as terrible and morbid an act as it was. She allowed her gaze to register the features of each person. They were all here, her whole family.

All except _one_.

"Oh, gods," she said in a breathless whisper, turning and hurrying back up the stair as fast as her weakened body would allow. "Kikyou, _please_ be okay!"

Kagome wasn't quite certain how—probably sheer adrenaline, she'd wager—but she managed to make it back through the house and up to the attic.

A sick jolt of panic rocked through her as she saw the door to Kikyou's room wide open.

Wincing at the exhaustion and soreness in her limbs, Kagome forced herself a bit further. Forced her legs to carry her across the attic and straight through that long-forbidden door.

The room was empty! Books and loose paper scattered everywhere, but no blood. No Kikyou! Whatever had happened, her sister managed to escape!

Relief swept through Kagome so great that her legs gave out from under her and she sank to the floor. The sudden, swift motion sent some of the papers swirling and shifting.

Swirling, and shifting, and revealing a smear of crimson on the floor.

She stared at the mark for a moment, fearful of moving more pages; fearful of learning what lay hidden beneath them.

Swallowing hard, she reached with trembling fingers to slide a paper away. _Markings?_

Kagome shook her head, confused as she swept her hands over the floor, displacing several sheets at once. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she found herself staring down strange, bloody symbols on the floor.

A horrible, twisted thought dawned on her. "Oh, Kikyou, what have you done?"

"Protected you," Kikyou said, her soft, lilting voice drifting inside as she stepped into the room.

Kagome turned, and—despite every dreadful thing she'd just found—a happy sigh escaped her as she laid eyes upon her twin for the first time. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, somehow ending up doing both at once.

Kikyou knelt down before her sister, smiling. They really were identical. She ran shaky, tentative fingertips over Kagome's tear-stained cheeks.

"They can't hurt you anymore."

Kagome felt her bottom lip tremble. All this time, Kikyou was the one they'd been harming, and yet . . . . "Kikyou, please, I don't understand. _What _did you do?"

Shrugging, Kikyou dropped her gaze to her sister's currently-flat belly. "I heard you. I heard you crying. I know they took the silver-haired man from you, and how much that hurt. I could _feel_ it."

"So you killed them?"

"Yes," Kikyou said brightly, as though the matter was a simple thing. She dropped a hand from Kagome to brush her fingers along the symbols. "My blood fed him for so long that it created a bond. After they took him, I reached out, borrowed some of his strength."

Forcing a gulp down her throat, Kagome willed herself to speak. "Borrowed or stole?"

Once more offering a shrug, Kikyou smiled. "He'll recover. As long as _you're_ safe, that's what matters. I'm going to take care of you, and no one's ever going to hurt you again."

Kikyou rose, and turned away, walking to the door. Walking without her cane; walking without her _limp_.

"Kikyou, your leg . . . ."

"Borrowed strength, remember?"

Too late Kagome saw Kikyou's hand on the doorknob. She tried to struggle to her feet, but her body was still too weak. She was far too warn out from her ordeal.

"Kikyou?"

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo through the room. The lock clicking into place rang in Kagome's ears.

A shuddering gasp escaped Kagome as she forced herself to crawl to the door. "Kikyou? Kikyou, please, what are you doing?"

"I told you, protecting you. I promise no one will _ever_ hurt you again. Now, it's best for you and the baby that you get some rest. I'll bring you something to eat in a little while."

Kagome didn't know what was more terrifying—the sweet, chipper tone of her sister's voice, or the dull thud of her footfalls as she started across the attic.

"No, _no!_ Kikyou, please don't leave me in here! _Kikyou_!" Kagome banged on the door again, and again. Each motion sapped what precious little was left of her strength, until she wanted nothing more than to curl up where she was, and fall asleep.

Kikyou shook her head, humming under her breath as she started down the stairs to the second floor. Her sister's pleas fell upon deaf ears.

After all, eventually Kagome would understand. She was only doing what was best for her.

**And This is Where I Leave You . . . .**

**Happy Halloween ;)**


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